Chloe’s ballet dancer. Life in France.
“Bonjour Madame,” said Chloe, aged 6.
“Bonjour Chloe,” I replied.
As usual she flapped a bit of paper and a pencil in my face.
“I need a ballet dancer!” she declared, but in French.
I sat at the kitchen counter and drew her a quick ballet dancer, complete with tutu and flowers in her hair.
“You can colour it yourself,” I told her as I handed it over in to her mittened paws.
Chloe held the picture and looked at it grimly.
“Don’t you like it?” I asked.
“Non, pas vraiment,” she said with the honesty of the very young. “I need one in a blue dress.”
“But you can colour the dress blue …?” I suggested.
She hesitated, torn between the pleasure of doing some colouring and not getting it already in blue.
“Can I keep this?” she asked, flapping the picture in front of her face.
“Why yes, of course!” I exclaimed.
“Tres bien,” she seemed satisfied. She folded the picture in to ther anorak pocket, looked up at me and smiled and said:
“Now can you do me one in a blue dress?”
Catherine Broughton is a novelist. Her books are available from most usual sources.